A "Mite" was such a tiny thing,
"Two Mites" a gift to give a "King"?
And still the saviour blest the giving,
Which was "All" the widow's living.
The mustard seed can grow to be
A spreading useful shady tree
And birds can find a refuge there
And know their Heavenly Father's care.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem